The Way Things Were
by Kirasdream
Summary: ON HIATUS. A DeathNote Fanfic about the going ons in the Wammy House through the eyes of a girl who was third in line to L's successor; these events were prior to that of the DN series. The Sequel will eventually be underway. There are SPOILERS here.
1. Prologue

Prolouge:

The Beginning is the End is the Beginning

I kneeled in front of his grave, gently wiping away the pollen. The sunlight reflected off the marble, enhanced by the trees ruffling their leaves and the voices of kids playing football near the graveyard. Beside me, Moral shifted uncomfortably.

"How come you visit this grave before Daddy's?" He asked.

"Because Daddy's further away from the gate." I explained. When Moral pouted, obviously sensing that it was not the only reason why I visited L's grave before Mello's (I will always call him that; I never got used to 'Mihael'), I added, "and we save best for last, remember?"

Moral considered, before his pout turned into a mishevious grin. "Can I go see Daddy, then?"

"Sure." I answered, and Moral jumped up, brushing off grass on his Sunday's-best-pants, then bounded eight graves down. I watched him sit in front of the marble grave shaped like an Irish Cross, eagerly striking up a conversation as if it would answer back. Personally, I was amazed that Moral had grasped the concept that he had a father, so much that he had almost an imaginary relationship with him, even though Mello had died before Moral was born. But Moral was different from other kids, just like the others that played by the mansion behind us. He had a knack for imagining, with out using toys, situations that were usually beyond a four year old's comprehension. Two former Wammy residents can take credit for his traits.

I wearily turned back to L's grave. It had been ten years since he had died, and no one really knew where his body was besides N, the current 'L', and no one was stupid or disrespectful enough to dig up one of his 14 graves across the world. As L had wanted, even in death his identity was hidden from the vast majority, yet I still remembered his unusual behaviour and disheveled appearance quite easily. As everyone often tries after meeting him, I sometimes imitate him crouching on chairs….stupid perhaps, but brings back good memories nonetheless.

"Well, L…" I muttered, glancing at Moral. "I'm here, like you said. If Raito hadn't killed you…"

_"Things would be much different."_Mello's voice from my memory drifted towards me. I looked again towards his grave, my son, who looked identical to when Mello was that young, watching him converse with his father.

"Yes, Mello." I said, standing up. "Things would have been much different." For instance, you might still be living, answering your son's musings over his day, or would he even had been born? I sighed. I was still angry with him, but I couldn't do anything about it, and try as hard as I might, I still mourned him. _Besides,_ I thought grimly, _it'll probably end up the same way as last time._ I took several steps toward Moral, the wind whipping through my hair, noticing that a car was approaching the gate from a distance, bringing back memories from almost twenty years ago to the present. This end was the beginning of the end….

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Feel free to review or w/e. I have no idea what people think of the story, so yeah...if you don't want to, then I'm not going to glue you to your seat and telekinetically make you write "THIS WAS FREAKIN AWESOME!!" (this is what I get for reading Jhonen Vasquez's website...).


	2. Zero

_**Chapter One**_

_**Zero**_

I believe I was five years old when I was brought to the Wammy House. I don't remember much before then: a dog, perhaps; me sitting next to my parents in church, and then boarding a plane and looking out the window, wondering about God. I don't remember if my parents died—I suspect that they did—but for a long time I did not know. I did not know my last name, since it would've been too hard to pronounce on a toddler's tongue, and I only had my first name to go by.

I was accompanied onto a plane from America to somewhere in the UK with a sweet old gentleman who went by the name Wammy, or Watari. I don't remember much of the plane ride itself, or much of the ride by train and then an Oldsmobile after that. Late in the night, the Oldsmobile stopped beside a large iron gate that was open, and by the headlights of the car I could see beyond the gate a large, stone mansion that was as big as a palace, in my mind. I immediately got over my sleepiness and hopped out of the car when a middle aged woman came out to our car with an umbrella—it had been storming four hours—and helped me out, both of us hurrying before Wammy to the house. The rain pattered insistently on the umbrella, and the gravel crunched and sloshed under our feet as we ran to the stone steps, not pausing long enough for me to look closer at the Gargoyles that flanked either side of the large cherry oak door. The woman opened the door for me to go in while she shook out her umbrella, and my mouth dropped at the sight.

The entrance was large, with cherry oak wooden floors that matched the doors, with giant Persian rugs spaced along each hallway that bordered the large, marble staircase that made a slight twist to the left before reaching the second floor, where a balcony ran perpendicular to the staircase. A large glass chandelier hung thirty feet above my head, it's lights dimmed. I knew that I hadn't seen anything as grand before, and then I was led up the staircase to a dark hallway, light fixtures casting warm shadows on the walls. The woman gestured to a room in the middle of the hallway where the door was askew, and peering inside one the woman flipped a switch, beheld my future room, bare with the exception of a bed and dresser and my luggage, free for me to decorate as I wanted it.

Over the next few days, I could recall not making friends easily, since everyone seemed older than I. The kids there—since there were many—were very diverse, coming from different nations, but all of them spoke English. I also started school there, which I remembered was very different from preschool. I was immediately put in several languages along with the standard Math and Science after I took some sort of 'test' that included answering questions verbally, arranging a puzzle, some obstacle course, and writing to a simple prompt. My teachers were kind but strict, and though I excelled in languages, I was almost failing science and math.

Everyone in the house, whether the residents, the teachers, or the caretakers, had 'code names', and were forbidden to reveal their true name. As Wammy had told us: "A name is a powerful thing; it describes you and gives you expectations, yet you make it your own. In the hands of an enemy, however, it will be used against you in some form or other." We were free to choose our own names, which was almost a test in itself. Technically, we had two names; a letter from the alphabet and a name that matched the letter we chose. O was definitely not my first choice, but I did not want to forget my real name, Ophelia; I took on the alias of October. I loved the tenth month, since it was in Autumn and I wanted a tribute to Halloween (where my love for it expanded from free candy to the chilling atmosphere). In the coming decades, I learned that I was not the only one to choose my letter based off my real name.

The letter L, for some odd reason, was quite popular with the slightly older residences. I inferred that there was someone popular that had the alias L, but I couldn't get more information other than a glazed look of wonder every time I asked an upperclassman.

"The most brilliant person in the world." Was their same response to me.

How brilliant could he be? I would scoff to myself as I walked away.

About a year after I came to the Wammy house, I decided to spend an afternoon in the library. I would often come here to talk to teachers, since I found that more interesting than playing ball or Barbie's with my peers. That and I liked to read, and the library was a very large place to get lost in with a good book. The library was less busy than usual that day, with the sun shining through the floor to ceiling windows, the bookcases bordering the walls being just as tall, with warm Persian rugs adorning the floor and numerous cherry mahogany desks and chairs scattered through out the room. Halfway across the library I spotted Wammy conversing with someone with his back to me. I approached the two sofas, having a question to ask Wammy, but started to take interest in the man he was talking to. He had jet black hair and was hunched over, and as I got close enough to see his profile, I could see that he had his knees drawn up with his feet on the couch, and his eyes were just as black as his hair, and he looked like he never got any sleep, though his eyes shone with awareness. The man paused as Wammy had greeted me, turning his head to look at me. No, _stare_ at me.

"October, this is Ryuzaki." Wammy said as I stared back at the teenager defiantly. I found him already interesting, since he seemed to look at me as if I were his age.

"Pleased to meet you." Ryuzaki said without a trace of an accent in English, or one that I was not familiar with.

"You too, sir." I replied, our eyes not adverting.

"October," I heard Wammy say, "would you mind keeping Ryuzaki company while I look for a book?"

I highly doubted that Wammy was going for a book or that this Ryuzaki would even be lonely, but being polite, I looked away from Ryuzaki to Wammy to reply that I would.

"Thank you," Wammy replied, smiling as he stood up from his pastel colored couch, indicating for me to sit. "I will return in several minutes." He told us and then headed toward one of the ends of the library.

Ryuzaki and I continued our staring match as I edged past the coffee table loaded with cups of tea and onto where Wammy had previously been sitting. Ryuzaki's irises were almost as dark as his pupils, something that even a six year old could notice. I tried to peer at them more closely, when his eyes suddenly widened, his mouth openening in horror. Scared, I whipped my head around to see the cause of what made him react like that, before noticing that he was triumphantly smiling.

"I win." He said simply, picking up a cup and saucer off the table.

I glared at him. "You cheated.

"I do not recall." He said, taking and opening a sugar jar. "I only widened my eyes more and relaxed my lower jaw. I didn't reach over the table and turn your head away from me."

I involuntarily smiled. "I think you still cheated."

"Yes, I must have telekinesis." He said, spooning mountains of sugar into his drink. "Would you like some?" He indicated an extra cup whose liquid looked thicker than tea. I leaned forward, looking at it suspiciously, sniffing it, then reeled away. "Smells gross." I said, my nose wrinkled. "What is it?"

"Coffee." Ryuzaki said. "I won't drink it unless it has a lot of sugar in it." He was still continuing to add spoonfuls to his coffee. "Things usually taste better with sugar."

Gingerly, I looked at the offered cup to investigate it. Satisfied it wouldn't leap out or anything, I picked it up, holding my breath to not get a whiff of it, taking a small sip. I could only imagine how screwed up my face became; the taste was so terrible that I had to concentrate for me to swallow it and not enable my gag reflex.

"Bitter, isn't?" Ryuzaki asked sympathetically. "Here, would you like to try it with sugar?"

I didn't want to drink it _at all_, but again being polite I allowed him to pour a generous amount of sugar from the jar itself into my cup. I sipped it again, and this time it tasted much better.

"Now," he said with a little mischievous gleam in his eye as we both drank. "If you go on a sugar or caffeine rush and Wammy questions you, it was not I who gave you coffee and sugar."

"Ok." I agreed. "But wouldn't Wammy know if he comes back and sees me with the coffee, or if I weren't here that there was still coffee for me to drink?"

Ryuzaki considered me, almost staring at me again, though as if he hadn't noticed me before. "Yes. He would also know by the third cup being half empty in addition." He said half to myself. "How old are you?"

"Six." I said proudly. "How old are you Mr. Ryuzaki?" I felt like I could ask him these types of questions and get answers without him thinking me rude.

"Fifteen." He replied, taking another sip of coffee.

I gaped at him. "Really? You look older. How come you sit like that?" I asked before he could reply.

"I've found that I can't think as effectively when I don't sit like this." He responded with a serious tone. "Here, you try."

Wammy came in half an hour later to see me also sitting like Ryuzaki, imitating how he held cups and books, before Wammy answered my question of when we were going on the next beach trip, looking amused as I got up from the couch to let him sit and take my leave.

"Bye." Ryuzaki said, watching me as I headed for the door. I smiled and waved goodbye.

For the following days, I tried to find Ryuzaki again; he was fifteen, therefore old enough to get his own bearings, but I was hoping that he would visit again. I searched every room, and soon expanded my search into late at night where Roger, one of the caretakers, found me scurrying around the kitchen around one in the morning, and he informed me that L was not due for another visit for a while.

"I wasn't looking for L." I said, holding my flashlight that pointed to my blue fluffy slippers and revealing the black and white tile of the kitchen.

"Ryuzaki _is_ L." Roger said exasperatedly, ushering me for the door.

I didn't believe him at first, but then I started to pay attention to some of the upperclassmen when they would mention L in class, and the picture I gleaned from them was similar to Ryuzaki. Moreover, Ryuzaki was a Japanese name, and in the language they substitute 'L' for 'R'. The man _was_ brilliant, and I felt quite special that I was able to talk to him.

Now however, I understand the timing of when Ryuzaki came to visit. L would come to investigate the new 'arrivals', though usually he watched and never revealed himself to them. I don't flatter myself by saying that though I felt special; I was special, for us to actually meet. In fact, I think I was a worrisome case; I did not have the qualities to succeed L (one of the main purposes of the Wammy Household), or enough qualities, at the time. I had an overactive imagination and was easily distracted, for one. L's successor couldn't be daydreaming or getting off topic during a murder investigation.

I had to wait two more years until Ryuzaki came by again, and by that time I made another friend.

=------------------

I was so bored with this chapter, but next one is VERY entertaining.


	3. Disarm

**_Chapter Three_**

Disarm

I was outside on an unusually warm day in December watching the older kids play football in the large, grassy backyard that was near the cemetery. I was sitting on the porch reading a book that I had reread several times since my seventh birthday six months earlier, when I heard the screen door behind me open. Without looking at them, I shuffled away to give the people room to go down the stairs that my feet rested on, but the people who had come through the door didn't walk past me.

"And this is where the kids usually play." I recognized the voice to be Roger's. "It is advisable to come inside when it gets dark."

"Sure." Another voice said absentmindedly. It sounded like a boy's, and he seemed like he was my age. I laid my book in my lap and turned to look at him.

He was my height, if not shorter, and had blonde hair that reached his jacketed shoulders with eyes that seemed arrogant (or stuck up, as I had put it) with a confident smile that matched his eyes. His body was erect as if he owned everything with his hands in his back pockets, surveying the yard. He noticed me looking at him, and we made eye contact.

"This is O." Roger said, seeing our interaction, as I stood up for a proper introduction. I couldn't help but feel excited; the closest person in age to me that lived here was a nine year old who decided that I wasn't fit for her company, and now with the arrival of someone who looked my age presented a glorious opportunity. "And O, this is—"

"M." The boy said again, smiling. "All we need is L and N and it would fit, right?" He offered out his hand.

I reached out to take his hand, but just as my fingers brushed his, he whipped his hand away, laughing hysterically. "Gotcha!!" He cried over Roger's stunned rebuke. "Too slow!! Man that's funny every time!!"

I instantly hated him laughing at me, rage boiling inside of me. Two years of crap for another kid who could potentially have been my friend ruin it. I had enough of it; all other situations I would have quietly taken it, but his laugh drove me mad, which was perhaps the reason why I drew back my fist and punched him as hard as I could in the face.

"FIGHT!!!!" One of the football playing kids screamed over Roger's shout of surprise, M reeling backward. He gained his balance, his lips turning into a snarl, and just as he lunged for me Roger seized the collar of his black jacket. M hollowed in anger, me making faces at him while eager children forgot their activities and rushed for the porch, but Roger grabbed my collar and thrust us both inside.

"Nothing here to see! Go back to playing." He called to the oncoming children, who sadly went back to the yard once they realized there would no more violence.

"Did I not just say that one of the rules is 'No Fighting'?!" He told M angrily, shaking us while we were dragged down the hall, literally kicking and screaming. "And _you_," he glared at me, "know better then to punch someone new. Oh wait until Watari hears about this….I knew he accepted children too early…."

Wammy had been on a business trip until this morning when he arrived back during M's tour of the house (one that each new kid gets; beyond the front entrance and my room I remember nothing of mine). Roger stomped into Wammy's nicely furnished office (Wammy, sitting at his desk, didn't look surprised to see Roger ticked with two kids trying to beat each other up) and deposited M and I in chairs a good distance apart as he recalled the incident to Wammy, who nodded solemnly.

"So…" Wammy said coolly once Roger finished, turning his eyes onto M and me. He looked so dangerous that even M gulped. "Explain yourselves."

At the same time M and I pointed at each other, shouting: "HE/SHE STARTED IT!!!"

"What?!" M snapped, twisting his head to look at me. "No I didn't!!"

"Yes you did!!!" I shrieked at him.

"Mr. Watari," M whipped his head back to Wammy; I had a feeling that M rarely used honorifics. "She punched me!"

"He was mean!" I pleaded, still pointing at M.

"Aaawww, did I hurt your feelings?" M asked sarcastically, apparently not able to resist the temptation.

"Aaawww, did I hurt your face?" I shot back.

This resulted us springing at each other, leaping over the arms of our chairs, but once again Roger was too quick and snatched us in midair.

"What should I do with them?" Roger asked helplessly while M and I growled at each other, fighting to bite or scratch each other. Wammy sighed, unmoved by the acrobatic display.

"The usual." He said wearily. "M, O, if you do not stop, there will be consequences."

_Very_ reluctantly, M and I ceased our struggle, but still continued glare at each other across Roger.

"Roger, if you'll be so kind to show M his living quarters." Wammy ordered. "Your punishment, M, is to reside in your room for the rest of the day and night. Dinner will be brought to you later in the evening." He then turned to me. "O, gather the things you will require. You will be moving into a separate room until you learn when to use violence, if at all."

I bit back a retort of protest, but M grinned in success; he didn't need to know how much I loved my room or how hard I worked on it for him to realize that he was getting the better end of the verdict. Roger then led M and I out, closing the door behind him, and escorted us to my room.

"Pack the things you need, and stay here until I come back." Roger ordered sternly, M sticking his tongue at me behind Roger's back as they both retreated.

Though, whether Wammy approved or not, I believed that I would return to my room and resume living there _very_ shortly, I still packed a lot of things, and if it weren't that all my posters covered every inch of my walls with staples I would have brought those too. Nevertheless, I was glad that I had Roger to help me carry one of my bulking two backs when he arrived thirty minutes later. I followed him down the hall and up a set of wooden stairs (the staircase at the entrance only reached the first floor and was used for a grand effect) to the fourth floor landing, branching off down another hall, heading for the very end of the hall, where through a window I could the sun starting to set behind the forest that was by the east wing. Roger paused at a door at his left, knocked once, and without waiting for an answer, he turned the knob and pushed the door open. The first thing I saw was M, bent over his luggage on a bed in the middle of unpacking, freezing when he saw me, and then I noticed a second bed adjacent to the one he was on. It clicked at the same time for the both of us.

"We are NOT sharing rooms!" M bellowed.

"He's a jerk! I don't wanna be NEAR him!!!!" I yelled at Roger.

"Who would _want_ to be near you?!" M shouted. "No one does!"

"Like mean little maggots like you, for instance?" I spat, using my choosiest word. People had begun poking their heads out of their rooms to see what the screaming match was about. Roger sighed bitterly, hauling my stuff and I in while M and I continued fierce bickering, and plopped me on the different bed and closing the door.

"Now listen you two," he said stiffly, silencing us with a nasty look. "People can hear through the walls. If we get any complaints of noise level that comes from your room, the longer _you_," he frowned at me, "stay here. You two are not to fight physically, and we'll know. Until you two get along _civilly,_ O will be staying in M's room. You," he pointed at me, "will also spend the rest of the day in this room. Dinner will be brought up around half past six." And with that he walked out and slammed the door shut.

M and I just stared at the door in disbelief, before we seemed to realize that we were stuck, together, in the room without a definite amount of time.

M was the first to act. He immediately got off his bed and stood in the median of our beds. "Ok." He said. "My side," He pointed to one side of the room. "Your side." He pointed to the other.

"Your side is bigger." I snapped.

"Fine." M snapped back. "I'll move my bed, since you'll just whine and complain." He turned away and pushed his bed, which didn't move. He pushed harder, and the bed still wouldn't budge.

"Need help?" I asked on his fourth attempt, however much I enjoyed seeing him struggle.

"No." He grunted, drilling his shoulder into the mattress. "I'm fine. I don't need help." He was panting now.

I sighed, then crossed over my bed to his. "Well, I want this over quickly, so I'm gonna help."

"No." He commanded, trying to put weight on his onto the bed. "I said I would—"

I threw myself on the bed's side, and with our combined weight and with a great shriek the bed scraped on the floor a good six inches backward. We both stumbled, me forward and him backward, toppling on the floor next to each other as the door burst open.

"What's going on?" It was B, one of the older kids, who looked very much like Ryuzaki.

"We weren't fighting!" M called, straightening up from his sprawled position.

"We were moving his bed." I said as more teenagers crowded behind B to see what the noise was about.

B's eyes flickered over to the bed and around the room. "Alright," he said wearily, backing out of the room, the people behind giving him space. "Just don't move more furniture." He then closed the door, the bewildered looks from the people outside our door gone.

M and I blew out a sigh of relief, both of us climbing onto our own beds. I sat on the edge of mine, deciding to unpack later, and M jumped onto his in the midst of his bags, muttering something.

"What?" I asked, becoming cautious.

"I said 'thank you'." He said irritably, making sure he didn't look at me.

I stared at him. I didn't even know he had the capacity to say 'thank you'. "Did you hit your head or something? Do it again."

He glared at me. "See if I'm every nice to you again."

"Ok, fine, I'm sorry." I said grimly. "You're welcome."

He continued to eye me, but looked less irritated. "What do you people eat here, anyway?" He said nonchalantly.

I shrugged. "Usual stuff. We have some things from around the world, so it's hard to say exactly."

"Good." M leaned back into a pillow, his arms folded over his head. "I'm sick of porridge. It's gross."

"We have that." I remembered. "And I don't like it either. Too grainy."

"Yeah, and it's like you're eating brains." He noted, looking at my face to discern my reaction at his comment, to which I remained passive like it was natural for people to eat brains.

"It _does_ look like brains, doesn't it?" I asked thoughtfully. "Did you eat it everyday?"

"At the orphanage? Yeah." M said darkly, his eyes narrowed. "I hated that place."

"Why?" I asked curiously.

M considered me, then sat up, sliding off the edge of the bed. "Well," he said reluctantly, "there was a lot of competition for food and everyone was bad and—" He was interrupted by a knock on our door, a muffled voice calling: "Dinner!" through the door.

"Finally!" M said gleefully, forgetting his story. "I'm starving! I'll tell you later." He said aside as he went for the door and opened it, two preteen girls with trays of food greeting us.

"This one is for M," One of the girls said, handing the tray to M as he practically salivated over it.

"And for O," The other girl said, giving me the last tray when I walked to the door.

"Thank you." I said gratefully as M zoomed to the median of the beds, beginning to devour his food. "From, er, both of us."

Both girls smiled and giggled, finding M amusing, and bid me goodnight (My and M's punishment must've been known through the whole house by now) as one of the girls closed the door helpfully for me.

M sat on the floor between our beds, trying a little bit of everything like he never had food before, though without reason; he was given a wide variety of things, from samples of Roasted Duck, some Kielbasa, and a plate of Sushi.

"How come you have something different?" He asked in between gulps when I sat across him, the tray resting on my lap. I took a drink of water before I answered him.

"They know what I like," I told him, " so they'll make it make it for me. Sometimes it's fun to try new stuff though. They gave you a lot of stuff for you to find out what you like."

"Ah." He nodded, his cheeks puffed out with food. He swallowed. "I like all of it." He said, surveying his tray, then looked at mine. "What's that—" he gasped, staring at the corner of my tray. Confused, I looked where he was gaping at, then laughed.

"Don't tell me you've never had chocolate." I said, still giggling.

"Are you mad?" He asked incredulously. "Of _course_ I've had chocolate! I—" he stopped himself.

I blinked. "What's wrong?"

He continued to look at it, then looked away, "So in the future, I can have chocolate every time I eat dinner?" He asked, concentrating on his plate.

I nodded. "Of course you can. They have lots here; you can get it whenever some days." He was acting strangely….

He brightened immediately. "Really?" His blue eyes were almost glittering. He leaned back ecstatically. "I love this place." He breathed, smiling. It wasn't his previous, cocky smile; it was a serene, content smile, which showed that he _could_ be nice.

I looked at my tray. I liked chocolate, but…I could get some later. I hesitated, then picked it up, holding it out to him. He looked at the chocolate, and then me shocked.

"Uhm, here." I said lamely, not looking at him. "Er, sorry for hitting you."

He stared at me, then smiled. "It's ok." He said, taking the chocolate. "It didn't hurt."

I froze, then cracked my knuckles.

He laughed, but a different kind than he had last time. It was a nicer one, where he was not laughing to be mean. "I'm joking!" He said good-naturedly. "To tell the truth, you hit like a boy; just don't tell people I said that. But mark my words." He grinned. "I would've won."

I scoffed. "Shyeah right. I would've kicked your butt."

"Wanna try me?" His eyes glinted playfully.

"Later." I said, grinning. "Once we're off punishment.

"Deal?"

"Deal."

He held out his hand. I eyed him suspiciously.

"I won't be mean," he said soberly once he saw me pausing. "And I'm sorry for hurting your feelings."

I stared at him and his hand incredulously, then figuring I would just punch him anyway if things went badly again, I took it, grateful he hadn't played the same trick on me, and we shook hands.

"Pleased to meet you." He said in mock gentlemen tone. We both laughed.

"Charmed, I'm sure, Mr. M." I said, imitating a Victorian lady.

"Don't call me M anymore." M said as he let go. "It's Mello. Please call me Mello."

I nodded, smiling. I liked the name; it was as if M and Mello were two different people, and if this wasn't a trick, I liked Mello more than M. "Then call me October."

We continued talking about each other until we both fell asleep on the floor around 10pm, and then when we woke up we started from where we left off. We both learned something about life, that it was unexpected; who knew that after he tricked me and that I punched him that we would become best friends?

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I am MUCH happier with this chapter than the previous one.


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